


Extenquish the Sky

by orphan_account



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How much of life is destiny, and how much is really under our control? Maybe changing one event of the past could change the world- or maybe everything you worked for was already inevitable.</p>
<p>After the gates of No. 6 are thrown open in a fluke of fate that should never have occurred; roles are reversed, leaving young Nezumi struggling to adjust to the culture of No. 6 under Shion's mentorship.</p>
<p>This story is told in very short chapters- more like paragraphs. So, enjoy a tiny break from your day to read a small update from the (admittedly desperate for fans) No. 6 fandom!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Faith

A given life can be summed up in a word. Some event or choice that was a person’s stake on the earth before they left. Usually it’s something simple that happened over time, like ‘mother’ or ‘thief.’ Sometimes it’s something large and imposing, something which- while perhaps only being a small percentage of that person’s life- was their undeniable hallmark; ‘president’ or ‘murderer.’

Although, on occasion, there is a life- or two- that are better summed up in a chain of events that, like dominoes, lead to the next and the next with a painful sense of inevitability. Such events that when recounted are so blindingly obvious in sequence that any other possibility is erased from our reason. Some might say it was written in the stars.

Still- a ruminating mind, given enough time, will see a way to change the story. When this happens, one can only hope that such a mind will look to the future in the hopes of changing the world, rather than become stuck in a nauseating loop of ‘could-have-beens’ and ‘if-onlys.’

‘The past is the past,’ as they say.

But platitudes are tedious; there is no life in tradition.

******

The sky was clear and polluted with light so as to drown out most of the stars. A slight wind blew tentatively through the grass, tugging gently at the turbines. The air was warm, and the flowers were just curling in against the moonlight. The night was a sigh. Yet, even through the peace there was an air of the inevitable waiting to happen. This small tremor of cosmic disturbance was felt and ignored by the happy people of No. 6, who grinned behind their perpetually clasped hands. The walls- soulless and metal as they were- seemed to smile at the importance of this day, waiting in anticipation of what would happen in nearly three seconds…

Two…

One.

The power went out.

In a moment, the whole city was thrust into the darkness it had all but forgotten. Not ten seconds later- and now there was an inkling of suspicion in the minds of the politicians- the generators all whirred to a halt. Within the space of another five or seven seconds, everything powered by electricity choked and died, and it was over. The nearly-inevitable that never should have happened.

The stars blinked to life in the newly darkened sky.

Mildly confused children across the city only began to cry when they noticed the terror of their parents. The insides of houses burst into raucous cries, but outside beyond the soundproof walls, the night was still for another fourteen seconds.

The grinning walls creaked.

The gates were open.


	2. Anger

Human capacity for emotion is a complicated algorithm. When something so primal as anger is hidden for so long, whether due to pride or necessity or frequently both, it’s surprising to say the least when it finally breaks loose. Anger like the kind felt by the people of the outlying districts of No. 6 is a special beast. Having been repressed and compressed for so long, it mutates into something new, raw, and ugly. It can no longer be felt as anger is meant to be felt- blind rage towards something or nothing. When the gates were open, there was a moment of numb disbelief before the sight was comprehended.

Stumbling, nearly gagging on the tumult of everything oppressed that was now forcing it’s way through their throats, the first people to run through were the most graceless.

It was the hive mind that humans often experience upon being just _second_ to the task that drove the next wave through sprinting and sobbing, dropping their possessions and grabbing their children.

Suddenly, there was a great roar of justice as the city was approached from all sides that shook the air and sent dogs howling.

******

A room faced the wall near the gate. Through one of the walls- made of a moth-bitten curtain, no wood- a young boy, half-way through unlacing a gold trimmed dress, stared wide eyed and could only think _not yet._

No sooner had he put those two words to his lips that the gates and the city obeyed. With a great _whump_ of circuitry clicking back to life, lights blinded the crying people, and the gates began to grind closed.

It was then that the rest of the citizens of the outer districts echoed his words- albeit with different intent- “Not yet!”

They boy abandoned his confusion and ran, grabbing his sweater off the table, kicking off his shoes and dodging unnoticed through the crowd.

The gates were nearly closed.

A young girl just to his left sobbed brokenly, pulling on her mother’s arm- Her mother’s leg had been caught beneath the sliding gate. She was so close… the gates were almost closed. If only she could _think._

The boy, too, was so close…

It stood just three feet open, closing rapidly.

He could make it.

She could make it.

He ran harder.

The gates were nearly closed, people were smashing into the wall, crushing each other as they tried to break through the solid metal.

Two feet open, three feet away.

The girl’s trapped mother was pleading with her daughter to run.

One and a half feet- The boy and the girl jumped at the same time.

The boy made it through, and screamed with success.

The girl did not, and was made silent between the heavy metal doors.

Fifty-odd sobbing people stood or collapsed by the West District gate, shaking with relief. The boy did not join them. The lights were back on. The authorities were surely coming fast. He slipped away into the night, padding barefoot through the recently washed streets of Lost Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be updating every other day- keep in touch. :)


	3. Confusion

In pictures, the world is easy to navigate. Two dimensional, clear corners, open streets. In reality, the world breathes. The ground warps and sways beneath your feet, and the more you try to focus and keep going, the harder it tries to throw you. The boy was familiar with the streets of Lost Town. He’d seen it in pictures a thousand times, he’d navigated every corner and alley on maps, but had never intended to wander the town in reality.

The fact that he had a destination is what made him feel even more lost.

Of course, he could give up on finding the place and just hide. He was doubting the decision to go there in the first place. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it just wasn’t time yet. He tugged on a loose string of the sweater that was tied around his hips. He’d forgotten when he’d grabbed it- it must have been some impulse before he ran.

He turned into an alley and leaned against a wall, letting the shock of what had just happened sink into his bones.

He was shaking.

He slid down the wall, knowing it was dangerous to stay still, and tried to calm down. The night closed in. There were footsteps resonating through the clean air. People were beginning to shout.

The boy stood up sharply, ears tuned to the sound of a particular set of footsteps drawing nearer.

He had to leave. If he stayed, he was dead.

If he was caught, he’d be thrown into the basement of the correctional facility, and there he’d almost surely die.

It was at that moment that things fell into place. The new inevitable, sparked by an event that never should have occurred.

A door set in the wall next to the boy creaked open, and the smell of warm bread and cooked sugar flooded his lungs.

A woman’s voice spoke, “Miss? Are you okay?”

She was speaking to him. She was worried about him? The boy put on his sweetest expression, and spoke with a voice that could melt butter, “I-I… I’m sorry, I got lost in the dark, I don’t know where I am.”

The woman smiled sweetly, beckoning him inside, “Come in, you can call your parents. Losing power was quite a shock.”

He nodded, sniffing pitifully as if he’d been crying, and followed her inside, trying to think of another lie. “I don’t actually… I don’t have parents. I live with my grandmother, but she’s in the hospital… I wonder, do you have a map? I was trying to get back to the hospital when the lights went out.”

Her expression changed rapidly through shock, embarrassment, and pity. Finally, she nodded, “Of course. Here, take a seat, I’ll get one.” She pulled out a chair for him, and called up a stout wooden staircase something the boy hadn’t expected to hear.

“Shion!”

He froze, forgetting where he was and the persona he was supposed to have adopted.

“No way…”

“Hmm?” The woman turned back to him, confused.

He briefly debated leaving, doubting the nostalgia that had driven him to search for this place, and what must have been fate that brought him here.

Too late to make a decision.

“Nezumi.”

******

Sometimes, anger is simply felt as anger. This is even more acutely so when it’s directed at oneself. He shouldn’t have run through the gate. There was nothing here for him. He shouldn’t have stopped in that alley. There was nobody good for him. If he’d been a little more clever, worked a little harder, he wouldn’t have been in the theater that day. He could have done something respectable. He could have tried to leave West District. He could have tried… He was spiraling. Useless thought process. He shook himself.

“Shion.” The woman looked shocked, “You two know each other?”

Nezumi smirked, “Do you have so few friends that it’s surprising, Shion?”

Before Shion could respond, the woman’s eyes widened almost comically, “…Nezumi?”

Shion walked slowly down the stairs, mouth hanging open. “Why…?”

The woman- Karan, he figured- sat down heavily, “This is her?”

“Her?”Shion looked confused.

“You talked about me?” Nezumi felt confused.

“I… I just… not really.” Shion blushed, “Her?”

“It’s the dress, probably.” Nezumi pointed out.

Karan blushed, “Oh, you’re not- You’re a…”

Nezumi stood, delivering a slight curtsy to the flustered woman, “I’m afraid so. Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home, ma’am, I’ll just be on my way.” He nodded to Shion, whose mouth stood open comically, “Shion. The gates were open, take care.” He took a step towards the door.

“Wait, Nezumi!” Shion sprinted over, grabbing his arm, “Don’t leave! I-“

Nezumi could plainly see the questions forming behind Shion’s eyes. He had to leave. Putting this family in the position of lying or defending him again… The thought was excruciating. Better to stay quiet. Run. Hide. Get caught. Figure it out from there. It was his own decision to run through the gates, after all. No reason to drag anyone else down with him.

“Something’s going to happen.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying it. The thought was itching at his throat, desperate to hit the air. “Someone did this on purpose. Best if I hide for a bit.” His eyes set with finality. “Good luck.”

Shion only grabbed his arm tighter, “Wait! Just… Stay here for a while. It’ll be fine. You can stay with us, right Mom?” He turned to Karan desperately. She just stared in confusion and shock.

Nezumi shook his head, “No chance. When they search your house- and they’ll come here first with your record- you wouldn’t want to be caught harboring a fugitive. Again. The same one. That’d look a bit funny, don’cha think?”

Nobody knew what to say. Nezumi detached Shion’s grip on his wrist, squeezing his hand briefly, “See you. Someday.”

He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, poor baby keeps getting left... You'd think he'd learn. That's certifiably insane behavior, little snow flower.  
> -Cas
> 
> It's called love, you cynic.  
> -Asoko
> 
> It's called Shoujo Syndrome.  
> -Cas
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Nostalgia

Nostalgia is a tricky drug. In the right doses, it’s the reason for living, the whole point of making memories in the first place. Slightly too much and you’re left paralyzed, unable to move forward you’re so busy looking back. Sometimes, even one who’s experienced can take it too far, through no fault of their own. Lock an addict in a room with their drug of choice, and who is to blame but the one with the key when they choke themselves on their own bliss? Similarly, Shion could be seen as blameless for the jumbled pleas that tumbled over his lips when the object of his nostalgia was thrust in front of him, only to walk away.

Long after the door closed Shion was left begging, struggling and failing not to cry as two years of whispered longing broke loose at full volume. His mother laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head in wonder. That name he had spoken- the one she had been so certain was a name for the reverence in her son’s voice when he spoke it- that name had belonged to the intruder in their home on that fateful night two years ago? The reason she sweated to run the bakery all day, and the reason her son was expelled from his school? He was the one who had broken her son’s heart and disappeared, leaving him missing someone for two years- far more time than he ever knew them.

He was right. Within an hour, the security bureau was at their doorstep, a haunting memory of days past as the same looming man stared Shion down with eyes full of accusation and mistrust.

Shion lied dully, and presented his ID.

It didn’t work.

When scanned, a blank screen appeared; empty boxes where a name, birthdate, and social ranking should have been.

It was the same for Karan, and even the officer when he tried, enraged. Within a few minutes, the whole town was in a panic, flooding the streets waving their identification like a white flag, hoping sheer numbers would prevent their arrests.

In a moment they were surrounded by officials with guns. Someone shouted through a megaphone which reverberated into every corner of the street, drawing out more and more hidden people who clasped their clothing around themselves as if to shield their bodies from the volume of the commands.

Shion and Karan joined the throng. Another young woman gripping a baby shuffled up to them, confusion in her eyes.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

Nobody knew.

The baby began to cry, tugging on her mother’s hair.

“Shh, Lily, it’s all going to be okay.”

The baby continued to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're fourteen, btw. :)  
> -Asoko
> 
> The people can do math, A. These city folk be smart.  
> -Cas
> 
> Nobody should be forced to do math with their fan fiction.  
> -Asoko


	5. Identity

Humans define themselves by society- a cluster of culture and traditions that all humans seem to crave. It’s the strength of the species. We are target creatures alone, easy prey. Society gives us safety, self-assurance, and guidance. It also gives us limitations and rules. It tells us both what not to be- the things we define as being bad, but it also tells us what to be, those things we define as being good. These terms of good and bad are subjective and debatable, something which most humans seem to understand, but very few dare to truly challenge. Those who do challenge the dichotomy are often subjected to something which society would otherwise consider a moral wrong: torture. Torture being here used in the much broader term than the initial conjured image of thumbscrews and waterboarding. Torture being here used to describe all forms of inflicted torment, including forced isolation, retention of basic necessities, broad scale demonization (propaganda,) and more. The visceral response of humans to challengers of right and wrong is to shun. Society will fight amongst itself, claiming to reserve punishment until a final judgement has been made, but inflicting harm along the way all the same.

One of the greatest couples ever to grip society must be Propaganda and Censorship. Together, they can control both the hearts and minds of masses of people. Replace reality and slowly feed in your own fiction with the sweet, charismatic voice that Propaganda is own to, and prevent any naysayers with the near invisible gag of Censorship. Such a couple has broken and created countless nations. Every nation. No human is clean.

To say the ends justify the means is easy when your eyes are filled with the image of a shining utopia, but it’s a sick joke when you are one of the unfortunate members of the oppressed, staring at the burned wasteland that is the society the utopia consumed. Either way, justified or not, you’re protecting your own best interests.

When the crowds of people swarmed into the streets, ID’s flickering in the air like a candlelight vigil, Nezumi saw his chance. He slipped into the crowd, tipping his head forward to shield his face with his hair. He stepped meekly, the embodiment of obedient womanhood. It was easy enough to find a place to hide. Along the way, he picked up dropped ID’s from the streets.

Within an hour, he’d collected nearly fifty, tossing them all into the drainpipes that lined the road.

The people began to panic when they realized they had lost their identities. Soon, the pleading crowd became a noisy, swarming hoard, screaming at the police to listen to them. The people were corralled into a gated area, where they were forced to either calm down or crush each other.

Officials debated over handheld communication devices, scratching their heads and staring warily at their own ID cards as if they might up and walk away at any moment.

The day was long. Nobody knew what to do, or where to go. There was no precedence, and thus no procedure to follow. People were counted and tagged with red and blue stickers. Red for those with IDs, blue for those without. Among the blue tagged people were some of the residents of the outer districts. Nezumi recognized a few. Some people must have stolen ID’s, because one man with obvious North District attire was red dotted, waving the card in the air.

What was there to do? What was there to possibly do? Suddenly, these cards which had meant so much meant next to nothing. Squares of plastic, flickering uselessly in the streetlights.

Not only were the officials concerned, the citizens were desolate. Everything they had put meaning into was under threat, their whole way of life. What was there to be done?

“Are there no records? How can they not tell who’s a citizen?”

“It should be obvious who’s from here! Just use your eyes and make a judgement!”

“I’m from Chronos! I’m from Chronos, why are you doing this?”

Contempt, rage, fear- the citizens of No. 6 were hurdling quickly into disarray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Stares at hands* What even _is_ society, man?  
>  -Cas
> 
> Idk, let's get too-deep-to-be-fluff-fiction into it for this next chapter.  
> -Asoko


	6. Responsibility

Some people are happy with social responsibility, whether that’s being responsible for another, or having someone be responsible for them. Maybe it’s altruism that drives them to care for others, or maybe it’s the more selfish need to feel purposeful. Maybe it’s experience that drives them to pseudo-parent, or maybe it’s the craving to be parented in return. Others reject this sort of responsibility flat out, preferring the freedom of no consequences to the safety of relationships. This sort of personality may stem from too much freedom, or too little. A person who’s never been chained will reject even the slightest leash. Similarly, a person who has never seen freedom will fantasize obsessively, sometimes to the point of fetishism. They might be the last to be trusted with it. Nezumi was never chained. He spent his entire life as a whimsical wanderer, frowning in contempt at anyone who would dare sacrifice any amount of freedom for safety. This may be where his rejection of responsibility came from. The repulsion he felt towards attachments of any kind. All attachments were chains in his mind, and all chains were to be cut- even the ones that kept you from falling.

Especially those.

Crowds slept in the street that night, on cots or futons, or just on the ground. Nezumi joined them, confident he’d blend with the masses- or at least not stand out.

He woke to a hand on his shoulder just as the sun was beginning to rise.

“Come with me.”

He met Shion’s wide eyes, and quietly stood. They picked their way through the sleeping people, some of whom were just beginning to wake, back to the bakery. He followed Shion up the stairs to a room he’d never been to, but felt somehow familiar all the same. It felt like the person who called it home.

“I’m taller than you, but I think they’ll fit.” Shion held out a change of clothes, looking nervous.

As loathe as he was to accept any more help, there was no way he could continue to blend in with what he was wearing. “Thanks,” Nezumi gave up and changed while Shion awkwardly averted his eyes. They fit fine- he rolled up the bottoms of the pants a bit, but there wasn’t too much a difference between them anymore. He tugged on the sweater he’d taken from Shion’s house two years ago. Shion stared for a moment in recognition- he looked like he wanted to say something about it.

“Are you hungry?” Must have changed his mind.

Yes. Always. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“We have to get back outside before they notice we’re gone.” Nezumi peeled the red sticker he’d somehow acquired off his discarded theater clothes and stuck it to the shirt he was wearing.

Shion glanced down at his own red sticker and shifted his weight uncomfortably, “Are you going to be-“

“Let’s go.” Nezumi interrupted him, “Hurry. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me. You’re in so much trouble already, Shion, do you understand? You always have been. Hang on tight to your ID, that’s the only thing that will keep you from being booted into West District since they already want you gone."

Shion looked confused, “What, really? Why?”

Frustrating. So completely frustrating. “Just come on. We need to go.” He grabbed him by the arm, dragging him stumbling back into the just waking streets of Lost Town, where people shivered in the morning cold.

Officials were coming.

The heavy sound of boot fall on the pavement, echoing into the tall streets and empty air. The people were low to the ground.

Silence. Complete silence.

Suddenly, an explosion of sound from a megaphone that stabbed their ears and sent the still sleeping residents into a seizure looking start as they woke.

“Lost Town Residents! Follow me! Anyone who stays behind will be counted as an undocumented, and will be evicted! Again! If you stay behind, you will be evicted!”

Drunkards and groggy children swayed to follow, seeming to drag their bodies forward with each step.

A man in uniform grinned down at Shion, “Who are you?”

Shion paled, “You know me.”

“I don’t recall. Hurry!” He shoved him forward, following him closely.

Dammit. Nezumi cursed internally. I can’t leave him behind. It was too obvious a danger. He owed him too much. As much as he wanted to distance himself from any image of his past, some annoying moral tick forced his hand, or rather his feet, to follow closely behind. Watching.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think cross dressing is probably a no-no in No. 6.  
> -Cas
> 
> I don't think there are very many yes-yeses in No. 6.  
> -Asoko


	7. Intimidation

Power is a basic need in the same way as water, food, and shelter. Most people are satiated- by circumstantial necessity- with the small amount of power of choice they are allowed to own over their own decisions, or the decisions of their children. Necessarily, though, when power is available, people will grab it. it’s instinctive.  
Uncontrollable. Pure.

The problem with power, as in anything, lies in abundance. Humans are undeniable gluttons. Instinctively. Uncontrollably. Purely. Every great religion was established as a way of controlling gluttony. It’s effort. You will sweat. You will cry. Whether or not gluttony is a moral wrong is one of those things that most people seem to accept a black and white answer for. Yes. Gluttony is wrong. Live simply. People are hypocrites. That is something even the hypocrites will say (of others). However, in the case of government- and all governments are corrupt on some level- gluttony for power is treated as a moral right, or at least it’s overlooked as a necessary evil.

It is not hidden.

Spidery scaffolding climbed the blue skies of No. 6, crawling it’s way up the side of the Moondrop. Officials with red pins on their black uniforms stood identically, scanning the masses of civilians in robotic synchronization. Every citizen stood facing them, mouths agape as they thrust their breasts forward to display the red stickers that had been placed there.

Whispers flooded the streets, but never more than whispers. The people were in shock. It was as if they’d seen their naked rulers on display and hadn’t yet decided whether to be angry or humiliated.

Slowly, the robotic scanning whirred to a halt, and one man- standing highest on the tower, probably the most powerful- spoke in a voice that reverberated through the air from every direction. Omnipresence- clearly that was the intention of the effect. The city is watching. We are everywhere. We see you. Omnipotence.

“Citizens of No. 6, give me your attention.”

The crowd was silent.

“And as for the non-citizens who are among us-“

Widespread gasp.

“Be wary of your mistake.” There was a long pause in which nobody spoke, but everyone wanted to. The man’s voice broke the silence, “We will find you.” Another ominous pause. “All people inside the walls- citizen or not- will be required to come to the Moondrop for trial. Prove your citizenship. You will have five minutes to make your case. Good luck.”

… All the records were wiped? Every single one? Who would do such a thing? Who possibly could?

What was going to happen next?

****** Bonus:

There is a certain slope that comes to a person’s shoulders when they come a little more to terms with who they are. People like to walk around with a false sense of self importance, with a false sense of control. It’s vital to human mental processes. Any person with a true sense of their place in reality would be crushed under the weight of their own insignificance, of their own subordination. The class divide of No. 6 was clear that day, sculpted in the shoulders of Lost Town versus Chronos residents, who gossiped and theorized as pettily as they had to under the heavy surveillance.

“I think it’s good they’re doing a sweep- who knows how many illegals have snuck through over the years?”

“Honestly, I wonder how much of Lost Town has been made up of those people all along…”

“I’m going to be killed.”

“Maybe they’ll even clean up a few of our city’s less than respectable citizens; God knows that place has gone to the dogs.”

“I don’t want to loose my home!”

“I’m a citizen!”

“If they’re really citizens, they have nothing to worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing I loved about No. 6 was that it framed this monster of a city as being something in the future, or something we could become.  
> Yet, the whole time, the reader has an uncomfortable sense that we may already be there.  
> -Cas
> 
> #savethebees  
> -Asoko


	8. Confidence

The secret to lying is simple- just expect that people will believe you. If you can do that, you can convince the world of anything. Conversely, if you expect people won’t believe you, even- and especially when- you’re telling the truth, they very often won’t. This was the dilemma of No. 6 as they waited to be judged. Suddenly, the key was in the smile, and the ones with the least anxiety were the liars- the ones who had nothing to loose. 

People slouched under backpacks and their children, twenty lines separated by age wound endlessly into the horizon. People clutched papers and photographs, postcards and house keys, anything printed in ink to help prove who they were. Minors stood with their families, everyone from infants to teenagers shaking with nerves. The elderly shook where they stood, struggling not to fall over. Nobody wanted to fall. Everyone was on the verge of falling.

Shion stood with a backpack clutched against his chest, scanning the crowds anxiously.

_Where is he?_

A sea of bloodless faces, too much to pick through. People were everywhere- Shion had never seen this many people in the streets at once before. There was barely room to move.

_Where is he?_

He was a minor without a family- there were so few of those in No. 6, it would surely call attention…

His heart stopped.

_Safu._

“Mom!” He looked up desperately at his mother, who’s eyes were closed against the day as if that might make it all go away. “Mom!”

She opened her eyes slowly at him. “Yes?”

“Safu! Is she going to be interviewed separately from her grandmother?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his mother’s eyes.

“Is she going to be okay?” He scanned the crowd again, searching for her. “Can she come with us? Safu!”

Karan grabbed his shoulder, silencing him, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Panic gripped Shion’s chest. His eyes widened, and he ignored his mother- “Safu! Safu!”

Miraculously, a small voice called back from some distance away, “Shion!”

Relief was short-lived. For a moment, her face showed through a pocket in the crowd. A moment later, a man in a black suit, red pin flashing menacingly, clamped a hand on her shoulder and steered her away. “Come with me.”

“No!” Shion screamed, causing everyone in his vicinity to stare. “NO!”

“I’m from Chronos!” She sobbed, tugging at the official’s wrist, “I’m from Chronos- Shion!”

The crowd opened up, staring blankly at the girl being lead away.

Shion tried to run after her, only to be held back by his mother, “There’s nothing you can do.” Her voice wavered, but she didn’t move.

“NO! SAFU!”

“That’s my sister!” Another voice called out of nowhere. Shion, Safu, and officials alike turned around in shock.

People shuffled out of the way, and Nezumi dashed forth from the crowd, looking distraught.

“That’s my sister! We’re from Chronos! What are you doing?” He ran up to Safu, grabbing her wrist, “Are you okay, where’s your ID?” He noticed the blue sticker on her shirt. “Blue…” He backed away, looking confused, “Blue? But I’m red… What happened? Where’s your ID?” He froze, understanding… “No. No way… Did somebody take it? Can that happen? Safu, what’s happening?!”

The official guiding her looked uncomfortable, but tried to maintain his air of authority, “Son, I’m going to have to ask you to back away, this is a matter of public security.”

Nezumi’s eyes widened, “Public… But that’s my sister. We live with our grandmother, haven’t you seen her?” He looked around the crowd, like one of the many shocked people might have the answer, “Has anyone seen her? She’s nearly of age for Twilight House, she knits a lot… Ah!” His eyes lit up, “She knit this sweater for me, Safu, you have one just like it! You still have it, right? Does anyone remember?”

There was a moment of silence. Then, out of nowhere, a boy about their age stepped forward, “Y-yeah. Yeah, I remember that. She was in my class once, she always wore those old homemade clothes…” He frowned for a moment, “I think I remember you too.”

Safu’s eyes were round with shock, but she managed to pull herself together and say, “Yeah, y-yeah, I still have it…”

At that, there was a huge roar from the crowd, “You can’t take her! She’s a citizen! That’s her brother! Find their grandmother!”

In shock, the official didn’t know what to do. After a moment of stuttering, he took both Safu and Nezumi by the shoulder, leading them back to the Moon Drop while the crowd cheered.

Shion stood in awe, trying to process what had just happened.

Had that possibly just worked? Could it hold up under any scrutiny?

He wanted desperately to be able to follow them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safu is the bae.  
> -Asoko
> 
> You can't put 'bae' in the chapter notes. You just can't.  
> -Cas


	9. Pressure

From the age of reason, we begin to build our defenses. As soon as we’re able to see the world and make judgement, we realize the danger of exposure. Different people create their defenses in different ways. Some react like fish- schooling together in the hopes that sheer numbers will protect them. Others cement themselves in on themselves, appearing hard and unbreakable. Still others camouflage through mimicry, appearing to be someone someone they’re not, and letting the falsities take the weight of the load. These defenses are challenged again and again throughout a person’s life, growing stronger each battle they win. The problems arise in the battles they loose. Building up armor again from scratch takes time. Building back up after a loss is far more revealing of a person’s strength than their resilience. You can learn so much- do they run? Do they hide? Do they yell? Do they fight?

Safu and Nezumi stood side by side within the walls of the Moon Drop, enduring the stares of a team of officials with clipboards and red pins.

“Names?” A woman tapped a pen on her notebook impatiently.

“Safu.”

“Sho.” Safu glanced at him for a brief moment, taking that in.

The woman nodded, writing that down. “Ages?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Twins?”

“Yes.” Unanimous.

She nodded, making another note. “Parents?”

Both were silent.

“Well?”

“Dead.” Nezumi answered eventually. “We were raised by our grandmother.”

“Where is she?” Safu asked, folding her arms.

“That’s not my job.” The woman tapped on her clipboard again, and her expression softened, “Look, I want to be able to prove you two are citizens. It’s not fair that since you don’t have parents you should be in this position. We’ll find your grandmother, and she can claim you two. We’ll let you be under her assessment, so as long as her interview turns out okay, there should be no problem. Just wait here, and we’ll bring her in when she comes through.”

There was nothing else to do. The two sat down on provided chairs and waited, not saying a word lest it be judged.

They waited nearly four hours.

Finally, an old woman in a wheelchair was rolled in. Safu gasped, and Nezumi mimicked her. The old woman looked pale and scared. She fidgeted absently with a piece of yarn, gazing around the room like a lost child.

“Grandma!” Safu called, jumping up and running over.

Nezumi followed, staying silent.

“Safu!” Her face stretched into a warm smile. She looked at Nezumi, first with confusion, then upon noticing his sweater, with understanding. “Sho.” She smiled at him as well before nodding to the officials, “These are my grandchildren.”

Something seemed to hit Nezumi right in the heart upon hearing those words. She really claimed him. “Yeah.” He smiled back at her.

The officials nodded, making notes on their clipboards. “Very well, you’re free to go. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

The old woman nodded, and turned her chair around. Safu and Nezumi followed, shocked but happy.

It worked.

They were citizens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey- finally back from Japan, sorry about the delay!  
> -Cas
> 
> Same time zone again!  
> -Asoko


	10. Culture Shock

The day was bright and happy. All the people had settled back into their daily lives as if nothing had happened. It was the weekend before the new school year was about to start, and all the children were buzzing about their class assignments, hoping to be placed with their friends, and away from the people they disliked. Everyone seemed to have forgotten the events of the past few days, which Nezumi supposed was predictable. It wouldn’t be No. 6 without docile, never-rebellious citizens. He’d spent the past couple nights in Safu’s house, filling them in about the situation as much as he felt comfortable. He got along almost laughably well with Safu, it wasn’t hard to imagine that they could really be brother and sister. She was a dominant personality with firm but thoughtful ideologies, she studied maybe a bit too hard for Nezumi’s taste, but she seemed to truly care about what she was learning, and take the information to heart rather than memorize facts. Best of all, she said what she meant. There was never any guesswork or bullshit when talking to her. It made for a nice change. Both Safu and her grandmother were enthralled with Nezumi’s story telling. Since there weren’t really any fiction books in No. 6, they were all too happy to hear retellings of classics over dinner. Safu said she might want to study abroad someday, to get to experience things like art and literature for herself.

The weekend flew by easily, and before anyone knew it, school was about to start. Nezumi tried to crush the nerves he felt about that- clearly, he wasn’t going to be on par with the rest of the students. It was going to be a lot of work to catch up and blend in. He shook the worries off, confident in his own ability to play the role of an average No. 6 student. He had to. There was no other way.

Still, as this was going on, he knew in the back of his mind that something was about to happen. The walls weren’t opened by chance. At any moment, something was bound to crack. He couldn’t wait to see it happen.

School started way too early in the morning. It was annoying how easily Safu seemed to wake up.

She looked at him strangely.

“What?” He frowned.

“Don’t you think you should cut your hair?”

Nezumi paled.

“Just a suggestion! You look different is all,” She amended, waving him off, “It’s fine, I guess.”

He tugged on the ends of his hair thoughtfully, “I’ve never cut it before…” He tried to think of a time where he might have trimmed it… He couldn’t think of one. Not that there was any particular reason anymore… Nobody had short hair in the forest, and in the caves nobody ever cared to tell him to cut it. After that, he’d been in the theater and had kept it long for the female roles he played.

Safu shrugged, “You can do what you want, but don’t be surprised when people look at you funny.” She stood up, twisting the kinks out of her spine, “I’m going to shower.”

He nodded, twisting his hair into a ponytail, “I’ll think about it.”

People did stare. Less because of his hair, and more because of the noise Shion made when he discovered they were in the same class. Somewhere between a small animal being stepped on and a gasp. He grabbed Nezumi by the shoulder shouting, “We’re together!” and dragged him away to a classroom.

The whole day was a blur. Everything from the artificial way all the students faced the same direction, to the subject material he tried to pretend he understood or even cared about. Papers stacked up on his desk in an overwhelming pile of stuff due the next day.

And this wasn’t even the advanced class.

He figured he’d get used to it. It was bound to be a little rough for a while, given he’d never set foot in a classroom.

Shoving papers in his backpack at the end of the day, every bit of breath Nezumi had in him was gone. He wanted to go home. For the first time in his life, he actually was looking forward to sleep.

Shion clung to him as they fetched Safu from the advanced school building and began the trek home. He closed his eyes, navigating by their incessant voices all the way back.


	11. Acclimation

Two weeks. That’s how long a person can fake an entire personality with no breaks. At least, that’s how long Nezumi was able to do it. Friday evening, after yet another day of dragging himself through school hours, everything had to stop. The three were walking home together, following the pathway that had been built into their muscle memory step by step.

_Any day now…_ became the mantra running through Nezumi’s head with each breath he took.

_Any day now something will happen._

But it didn’t. And it kept not happening. What were they waiting for?

Two weeks later, that Friday evening, the sudden droop that came to Nezumi’s shoulders was hard to ignore.

“-so I told her I’d finish the last page by today, but she-… Are you okay?” Shion stopped walking, looking concerned.

_Yeah, just don’t look at me for a second._ Nezumi frowned internally, “Yeah, of course.”

Shion didn’t look like he believed him. “Mm… You just don’t usually stand like that is all.”

Nezumi glared, “Do you make a habit of staring at my posture?”

“Yes.” Safu answered for him. “He does.”

Shion turned to her in shock, “Hey!” He frowned, “Well, that means you’re staring at me, then, so there.”

_Pointless. Pointless immature babble._ “Can we go home now? It’s hot out.” The word ‘home’ still hit his tongue oddly.

“Can I come with you?” Shion bounced on his toes.

Safu shrugged.

It was still a shocking sensation, stepping into an air conditioned house. The sudden change in temperature- while welcome- still set his teeth on edge. It was also strange just to know he was in Chronos, firstly because of how dramatic a leap it had been, and secondly because of the unshakable _guilt_ he felt for such a stupid reason- it was betraying his morals to be here and that hurt, but mostly, he couldn’t help but feel angry at this school system even though it was infinitely better than the zero education anyone received in West Block. It should be a privilege to be here in this school. It just felt confining and frustrating, and everyone else was better than him, and he felt incredibly _guilty_ for not being able to appreciate it more.

What was _wrong_ with him?

His mask was slipping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was super short, sorry about that. Cas is still moving back in from Japan, and I'm in a mad rush with school and all that...
> 
> Anyway, we'll be back shortly with the (super fluffy) sleepover we just implied. Nice to see some fluff in No. 6, yeah? We need more of that for our boys. :)
> 
> -Asoko


End file.
